


Bring Me Back to You

by sassy_cissa



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, implied infidelity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-06
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-11-28 15:15:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11420661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sassy_cissa/pseuds/sassy_cissa
Summary: When a very married Harry Potter discovers he has feelings for Draco Malfoy, he has some hard choices to make.





	Bring Me Back to You

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for LJ's 2017 Glompfest and is a gift to rainfallsdown8. The title is from a line in the song _Praying_ by Rachel Fuller.

Harry cursed under his breath and tried to jam his hands further into his jacket pockets. It was bloody cold and his own damned fault for forgetting his gloves at home, and that just compounded his irritation. Of course, he'd been annoyed since he'd seen the Quidditch scores in the morning paper, not because his favorite team lost or anything. He didn't have one, not really. Ron's slavish support for the Cannons (now celebrating their fiftieth losing season!) hadn't changed and was still a source of amusement and ridicule for him and Hermione. He knew he should consider the Holyhead Harpies 'his' team, given his wife was their first team chaser, but he just couldn't. Harry knew it was uncharitable, but he thought the new team manager Gwenog Jones was an egotistical pain the arse, and coach Theo Nott was a prat. In fact, most of the professional Quidditch players Harry knew were obnoxious. 

With the drubbing Edinburgh had given the Harpies the night before, Harry knew when he finally heard from Ginny today she'd be angry and frustrated She'd also face more hours of endless practice. More than likely, his wife would not be coming home for the weekend, _again_ , and he'd sit down to a solitary dinner in their flat, and hours of mindless telly until he climbed into a cold, lonely bed. Still, it wasn't as if he hadn't known what he was getting into, though. When he married Gin, she'd just been coming off her first season as a permanent player. Their marriage hadn't been able to take place until the season had ended, and his new wife had gone off to practice again within two weeks of their short honeymoon. Harry just didn't know if this was something he could continue doing. He was proud of what Gin had accomplished, but he missed having a real relationship, with someone home to talk to, at least some of the time.

Ginny hadn't been thrilled when Harry'd balked at the idea of going to work as an Auror right away, passing on the Ministry's offer of an assured job in the DMLE. Perhaps Harry should have known then that they were heading in different directions. Ginny hadn't been able to understand why he had been done chasing dark wizards, especially when Ron had joined up and started climbing through the ranks. Harry had tried to explain that even though Voldemort had been a horror and technically had killed himself, watching him fall dead had been the last time Harry had wanted to be on the casting end of a spell that did that. During a particularly bitter fight, in their second year of marriage, Ginny'd even accused him of being jealous that she was now nearly as famous as he was. He'd left the flat at that point, afraid of words he might say that he couldn't take back. Sometimes Harry wondered even now why he'd bothered to go back.

A lone snowflake landed on his nose and Harry brushed at it in irritation. It was too early in the season for there to be snow on the ground, and it added to his annoyance. But when he arrived at the age-darkened door of his shop, some of his bad mood lifted. He pulled the large antique key from his pocket, the original key from when the Diagon Alley location of Ollivander's when it was opened in the late fifteen hundreds. Harry fitted it into the lock, and he performed the little ritual the old man taught him before he retired. Push the key in, pull back slightly, lift it toward the right and turn to the left. The old lock was stubborn today, but it always was in the cold. Harry had to go through the steps twice before the telltale thunk sounded from inside the door and he was able to push it open. Immediately the scents of fine wood assailed him, and he inhaled deeply. God, he loved the place.

The shop had been little more than a burned out shell at the end of the war, and Harry'd known Ollivander was in ill health and without family when he'd volunteered to help put the business back to rights. Between shifts at Hogwarts getting the castle repaired so school could begin in September, Harry'd spent hours with Ollivander, restoring the store and the equipment he used to make wands. The old man had been sneakier than the Death Eaters had expected, and he'd stored thousands of wands and wood and products for wands core in a storeroom under the shop. The first time Ollivander'd taken Harry downstairs on the rickety set of steps, Harry'd sure they'd break under their combined weight. Then Ollivander'd whispered a spell and the room had magically expanded to the size of the Hogwarts Great Hall, every inch of space crammed with wands all of the way to the rafters. 

"How do we know which ones to take upstairs?" Harry'd whispered in awe. They'd just finished restoring the shop on the main level, repairing shelves and the dark wood counter. Ollivander's milky eyes had seemed to twinkle in the dim light.

"There are magical enchantments that need to be put back in place," he'd whispered in a rough voice. "Enchantments they didn't know about." Ollivander always referred to the Death Eaters as 'them' and the events of the war as 'the bad times'. "Then the wands transfer themselves; they know who's coming in. 'The wand chooses the wizard, Mr Potter'."

It hadn't taken Harry long to become enchanted with the whole aura surrounding wands and wand lore. He still had his first effort, a simple ash with a dragon heart string core that was rough but surprisingly efficient. Ollivander'd taught him everything he knew. He'd died when Harry was twenty five. In honor of this teacher, Harry had proudly taken over the mantle of 'wand maker for Britain's wizards'. 

Ron had asked him once why he didn't change the name to 'Potter's', and Harry'd grimaced.

"Why the bloody hell would I do that? Besides, people go to Ollivander's for their wands, not Potter's."

Ginny had asked, too, more insistently once she realized he actually was serious about being a wand maker, that it wasn't a passing fad. The only one who hadn't been surprised by his decision was Hermione. She'd just given him a small smile. Hermione always understood Harry, even when he didn't understand himself.

Now inside the shop, Harry waved his wand as he closed the door behind himself, activating the modern coffee maker in the back office. It had taken far more magical know-how than he'd had to use fighting Death Eaters to get the coffee maker operational. Hermione was the one who finally managed it and she stopped by more often than not on her way to the Ministry to pick up a cup as payment. Harry made sure the mugs were clean each night before he locked up; she teased him mercilessly if he didn't. 

Pausing long enough to turn the sign on the door from closed to open, Harry pocketed the key as he went to the counter. The shelves behind it were packed with the distinctive long, leather covered boxes and Harry's gaze drifted over them, like every morning, taking in his inventory, old and new. Holly with a dragon heartstring core in one box, oak with a core of niffler fur in another. He smiled at that one, wondering if it was going to a smart new Ravenclaw or a cunning Slytherin. Harry was sure the wand would work for the right person, either way. He remembered crafting it. It had been tricky: oak was a tremendously hard wood and nifflers weren't particularly happy about donating their fur. The wand bearer would have to be stubborn to wield it properly. 

Sometimes Harry wondered what Ollivander would think of his experimenting with different wand cores. By the time the old man had passed away, he'd felt that the time had come to take into consideration the new generations of witches and wizards that would be frequenting the shop. They'd only just started experimenting with new materials when a bout of Spattergroit had taken Ollivander. A younger man would have survived, but Ollivander was old and tired and had already started passing the torch to Harry. Finding out he'd been left the shop itself hadn't surprised Harry at all. It's what Ollivander had hinted at for year. Harry was drawn from his musings when a familiar grey barn owl flew in the window near the top dormer of the shop and fluttered down to sit on the counter, leg stuck out impatiently.

Even though he'd been expecting it, Harry had hoped his wife might take a few minutes to Firecall him rather than just sending a fucking note. Anger welled inside him as Harry untied the note from the owl's leg. "You know where the treats are, Mercedes. Might as well have a drink and a rest. This might take a while to reply to." Harry absently scratched the owl's head as he unrolled the parchment.

 _Harry_ it began in barely legible writing. _I'm sure you've seen the paper this morning and saw how abysmal we were in the game last night. Gwenog has called practice all weekend and in fact, I'm on my way there now. No time for more. I'll try to Firecall tonight if I'm not too knackered. Gin_

Harry stared at the note. Long gone were the days when the notes talked about hating that they were apart or how much she missed him. These days, she barely took the time to talk to him. He understood that she was tired, but he felt he was becoming less and less important to her. Harry balled the note up and tossed it into the corner before crossing to the fireplace, flopping into the low chair he kept there for comfort while chatting. Pulling his wand out in one fluid movement, he lit the fire. 

"Hermione Granger-Weasley's office," he called out irritably. Harry waited a few moments and was about to call out again when Hermione's face appeared in the flames.

"Good morning, Harry." She tilted her head to study him before continuing. "I'm guessing you've heard from Ginny and she's not able to come home this weekend."

Harry smiled at her despite his bad mood. He really was lucky to have such good friends. He thought back to the first time Hermione'd poked her head in his and Ron's compartment on the Hogwart's Express. So many years and so many adventures since then and through it all, she'd stayed by his side. Once she'd told that bold-faced lie to Professor McGonagall in the girl's toilet, she'd never wavered in her friendship and loyalty. Harry inclined his head slightly in response to her question. "Got it in one, Professor. You alone or do you have a bevy of students waiting anxiously for your words of wisdom?"

"You're still an arse, Harry Potter," she shot back, with a smile. "I've a few minutes before my department meeting. Is there anything I can do?"

Harry shook his head. "Not really. I expected as much when I read about the game this morning. But just once, I'd appreciate if she'd find the time to actually call me rather than Owling me. Pretty soon I'm going to forget what she even looks like!"

"I highly doubt that," Hermione laughed. "Would you like to come for dinner tonight? It'll just be take-away, but you know I can Owl in an order with the best of them."

"I'm not sure I'll be fit company. I think I need some time to wallow and Gin did say she'd try to Firecall later." He left off the _which she never seems to find time to do anymore_ that was on the tip of his tongue. 

They chatted for a few more minutes before Hermione glanced at the clock on her wall and told Harry that she needed to go before she was late to her own meeting. 

"I'll let you know if I change my mind about dinner," Harry promised as they signed off. When her familiar bushy head disappeared from the flames, he rose from the chair and turned back to the counter. He had some notes there on some new wand cores he wanted to try out. Maybe that would be just the thing to take his mind off his marriage woes. Were they woes if only one person felt them, he wondered. 

Harry took off his jacket and tossed it over the back of the chair, then saw the wadded up note in the corner and bent to pick it up as the bell on the door signaled that he had a customer.

"Be right with you," he called out. "Just need to grab this." Harry straightened and turned, startled into stillness. 

"So it is true." Draco Malfoy said sardonically. "You are working here."

Spurred into movement by the sound of the familiar, posh voice Harry tossed Ginny's note in the bin under the counter, giving Malfoy an amused smile. "It's worse than that, I'm afraid. I own the shop." 

Malfoy's eyes widened, and Harry grinned at him. Even back at Hogwarts, if Harry'd said he thought the pointy git was unattractive, he'd have been lying. In fact, it had been following Malfoy around sixth year, trying to ignore the way his pulse jumped while he attempted not to stare at his arse that clued Harry into something fundamental about his own sexuality. He hadn't had an opportunity to be sure, at least within his own mind, until the war was over and he and Gin were on a break. Haunting the gay Muggle clubs in London had helped him come to the conclusion he liked blokes as much as he did birds. What had finally made him sure of his relationship with Ginny, the reason they got back together, was that she didn't _care_. She said she loved him and he believed her. A particularly good-looking man would still turn his head, but he didn't need to act on it, any more than he needed to flirt with a particularly good-looking woman. 

But now it was hard not to stare. He glimpsed Malfoy at a distance a time or two over the years, usually at functions, but they most emphatically did not travel in the same circles. Looking at him now across the counter, Harry appreciated the sight. Damn if Malfoy hadn't grown up nicely. He was still pointy, but his features had grown into perfect alignment and they suited now. They were aristocratic but not pinched like they had been at Hogwarts when they were younger. Not to mention that last year, at the Manor and in the Room of Requirement, when Draco had been consumed by what looked like worry and fear. 

Harry also noticed the broadened shoulders and deepened chest that were clad in the well-cut business robes. And didn't it beat all that a decade after Harry'd first really looked at Malfoy as something other than an obnoxious toad, he he found himself actually considering what was under Malfoy's robes. _Just shoot me._ Harry thought, trying to pull himself together as he walked to the counter.

****

Draco watched Potter approach, startled into silence. He'd heard he had spent a lot of time with the old man, but it never occurred to him that Ollivander would sell the business outside of his family. Or that the man whose arse he'd been shamelessly admiring belonged to _Potter_. If he'd known he might run into him, he doubted he'd have gone into the Diagon Alley store. Which would have been a crying shame, he could admit as Potter stopped on the other side of the counter separating him. Potter had been _much_ improved with age. He was still a speccy git, but he was a dead handsome one now.

When they'd been attempting to kill each other at school, Draco had acknowledged to himself that at least part of their animosity had been that he'd had more than a tiny crush on the boy who just wouldn't fucking die. The shaggy black hair, wide green eyes and tawny skin had done funny things to his libido, even when they'd been throwing hexes at each other. Now? Well, he knew he'd have stopped and stared at this man, even if he had been bloody Potter. He'd got taller, broader even while still trim. Something clearly in evidence in the snug black jeans and fitted green jumper he wore. It made his eyes look huge, guileless with their fringe of thick black lashes, if a man approaching twenty-eight and that lush could be guiless. The slight smile that curved his lips made Draco stare at them, noticing how full they were. 

"So, what can I do for you, Malfoy?"

Draco watched those fetching lips form the words, then forced himself to pay attention to what they actually _said_.

"Oh. Er." Draco wondered if the heat in his face meant he was blushing. Circe, he hoped not. He straightened. "I'm actually in the market for a new wand." 

Potter leaned on the counter. "Did something happen to the hawthorn and unicorn hair one?"

Draco shook his head. Potter had returned the wand to him after the war, and it had worked fine for the first couple of years. But as he himself changed, and matured, the wand had grown less and less attuned to him, had become less an extension of his hand and arm and will. 

He just wasn't sure how he was going to explain that to Potter. 

"I still have it," he said, "but for what I'm doing now, it just seems a bit…sluggish."

Potter's eyes lit up attractively. "The racing brooms, right?"

He was startled Potter had heard about the line of racing brooms Draco was perfecting, but he supposed he shouldn't have been. The line was getting a lot of attention, particularly since Bulgaria had ridden them to spectacular victory over Britain in the recent World Cup.

"Yes. And for some of the flying charms, the hawthorn one just isn't getting the job done." 

"Apparently it did well enough for Bulgaria," Potter quipped, but a sudden light entered his eyes. He snapped his fingers. "I may have just the thing."

Potter turned away, going to the ladder Ollivander used to ride around the shop. 

Draco watched as Potter climbed several rungs, putting that fetching arse right in Draco's line of sight. It seemed it would be an insult not to stare at it – it was lovely. Potter came back down holding a wand case far sooner than Draco might have wished. When he returned to the counter, he opened the box lid and withdrew a sleek, black wand with a silvery, intricately carved, curling pattern down the hilt. It almost looked like a Patronus vapor. Potter held it out reverently.

"What wood is that?" Draco asked, taking it. The moment he held the wand he felt a surge of magic in his hand. "Whoa!"

Potter was watching him carefully. "Good whoa or bad whoa?"

"Powerful whoa. The wood?" Draco's hand was tingling from the energy. He'd never encountered anything like this.

Potter nodded, frowning a little in consideration. "Black walnut." Potter leaned against the counter. "It's native to the northeastern American continent."

Draco was amazed at how his magic was drawn into the wood. "And the core?"

Potter hesitated for a moment. "Thunderbird feather."

This was something entirely unexpected to Draco. He arched his eyebrows, surprised. "I thought Ollivander only used dragon heartstring, phoenix feather or unicorn hair." He turned the wand between his fingers, examining it.

"Ollivander did." Potter shrugged. "But we were experimenting with some other things before he passed away. I've continued the work now that I own the place."

"And what is a – Thunderbird you said?" Draco was intrigued, not only by this new wand but also by its maker. 

"It's an American magical creature. Their Native cultures were aware of it first. It's huge, and causes thunderstorms over the deserts of the southwest." Potter smiled slowly. "It's also wicked fast, so it might fix your problem with the flying charms."

Draco stepped back from the counter, tossing the beautiful wand from hand to hand. He could feel the power in it, the potential for magic, for his magic. He cast a minor _Lumos_ , and the light that flared from the tip was so intense he winced away from it and ended the spell quickly.

"Merlin, Potter," Draco gasped. Fuck, but that was almost better than sex.

Almost.

Potter's grin was just slightly cocky, and Draco found it more attractive than he should have. "Think that might help you out?"

"I think people who buy the brooms made with this wand will need to tie themselves to them to stay on." Draco returned Potter's grin. "How much?"

Potter shrugged. "It's on me."

Draco stared at him in consternation. "No, you can't do that. Not for something this amazing."

"I just did." Potter leaned back against the counter. "Besides, you may be having trouble with the old one because of me. Ollivander told me once it had changed its allegiance."

Draco stared at him for a long moment. "I'm not comfortable just taking this," he said finally, even though he could hear his father in his head, calling him every name for a dunce in existence. Wands like this one cost a small fortune ordinarily. "I need to give you something in return."

"How about this," Potter said as Draco stared down at the wand. "You use it, and if it helps with the racing brooms, I can use that in adverts. You know, 'Malfoy's Racing Brooms, made with an elite, new generation of Ollivander wands'."

"You missed your calling, Potter," Draco said wryly. "Instead of saving the world, you should have been writing advertising copy." He looked back down at the wand. It fit his hand so perfectly. "I'll expect to see that ad in the Prophet, then."

Potter chuckled. "Deal. And I'll expect you to convince Britain to let other players beside Seekers ride your brooms."

Now Draco laughed. "I think that would take someone with your powers of persuasion, Potter." He hesitated just a moment more, but the decision was already made. "Thank you," he said finally. "I'll keep you posted on how she performs."

"A female, huh?" Potter's eyes sparkled. "Careful with it, then. They can be unpredictable."

Draco looked at the ring on Potter's left hand. "You sound an expert."

One of Potter's brows twitched wryly. "I've had several years to learn. Here, let me wrap that up for you."

Potter took the wand back, laying it carefully on its bed of velvet before fitting the lid to the leather box in place. He took a cloth, drawstring bag from beneath the counter, _Ollivander's Fine Wands_ emblazoned on the muslin. 

"So, why haven't you renamed the place to Potter's?" Draco asked, suddenly curious. Potter shook his head, a lock of dark hair swinging down over his brow, covering the lightning bolt scar that was all but invisible now. Draco fought the urge to reach out and push it back, scan his forehead for the familiar mark. 

"People come to me for 'Ollivanders' wands, not Potter's." He held out the bag with a bright smile. "Enjoy her. And keep me posted on how she performs."

"I will." Draco took the bag, taking a step back. He was awed by Potter's generosity, but still a bit unsure how to respond to it. "Potter," he said impulsively. "What are you doing this evening?"

Potter's face went blank for a moment. "Uh…" Draco watched several emotions play through the expressive eyes. Hesitation, irritation, then resolve. "Not a damned thing. Why?"

"How would you like to join me and some friends of mine for drinks at the Leaky?"

The silence that descended in the wake of the question was complete, almost heavy. Slowly, the corner of Potter's mouth curled upwards. 

"Malfoy, did you just ask me out?"

Draco huffed. "I asked you to join me and _some friends_ for drinks at the Leaky. Besides, I thought you don't swing that way."

He meant it to be playful. The heated look Potter gave him caused Draco to reassess that assumption with a jolt of surprise. 

"What time?" Potter's voice was business-like again.

"What?" Draco asked, still trying to wrap his head around that look Potter had given him. He blamed the energy surge of his new wand for his confusion. It had nothing to do with his trousers feeling snugger. Nothing at all.

Potter smiled. 

"What time for drinks at the Leaky?"

"Oh, seven." Draco battled with his surprise, still a bit shocked that his world had upended itself. Or his understanding of Potter at least. "You'll come?"

"Yeah, I think I will." Potter nodded slowly.

"Okay. Good." Draco took a step back. "See you at seven, then."

"I'll be there." 

Potter's eyes were so vivid, so sparkling emerald green, Draco had to drag his gaze away. 

Draco turned and made his way out of the door with his new wand, in a way that he hoped didn't make him look like a staggering drunk. He winced when he thought of Pansy's reaction to what he'd done. 

She was going to kill him.

****

Pansy turned to look at Blaise. "Please tell me he didn't just say that Harry fucking Potter was joining us after dinner for drinks."

"Sorry, love," Blaise was trying hard not to laugh at Pansy's dismayed look. "That would be exactly what Draco just said, although I will admit it was not phrased quite so colorfully."

Draco attempted nonchalance as he shrugged. "Merlin's balls. You two are acting like I just invited my Aunt Bella to join us. I promise you Potter will be far less likely to kill one of you over a stupid remark."

Pansy waved to the waiter and pointed to her drink. "It is imperative that I am never without a drink this evening. If it appears I'm about to finish one, there must be a fresh one waiting on the table for me." She looked him directly in the eye. "Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, ma'am," stammered the waiter in reply. He beat a hasty retreat back to the bar.

"Oh brilliant," Draco drawled. "This should make the evening really special. Drunk, cranky Pansy is so much fun to deal with. Help me, Zabini. Tell her it won't be that bad."

Blaise turned to Draco and with a tilt of his head and an arch of his brow conveyed _pull the other one, Malfoy_ without saying a word.

Crossing his arms on his chest, Draco leaned back in his chair. "Fine."

"I must admit," Blaise ventured, "I'm more than a bit curious as to how this invitation to drinks came to be."

Draco sighed. "I ran into him earlier today." 

"Literally?" Pansy asked, hopefully. "Did you bruise him? Knock out a tooth?"

"No, you mad bint," Draco replied, but there was a deep undercurrent of affection beneath the insult. "I went to Ollivander's this morning. I've been putting off replacing my hawthorn wand for months. I've tried to deny the problem with the aerodynamics of the new brooms was the wand's fault, but after nearly pitching into the lake by the Manor again last week, I can't pretend it's functioning the way it should anymore. " 

Patty gave Blaise a beseeching look. "Please make him stop saying things like 'aerodynamics'."

Blaise chuckled softly. "Yes, do stop talking over Parkinson's head, Draco."

Pansy glared at him and reached for her wineglass. "Don't think you're not an arse yourself, Zabini."

"Cow. Anyway," Blaise said, pointedly turning back to Draco. "Saint Potter?"

Draco shrugged one shoulder, hoping the heat on his cheeks didn't translate to a blush. "He owns Ollivander's."

Blaise's brows shot up. "I'd heard that, but couldn't believe it. Why in the world would Potter want to own a wand shop when he could cash in on being a war hero?"

For some reason Draco found Blaise's casual dismissal of Potter's work ethic faintly insulting, which was disturbing in and of itself. "I've no idea. You can ask him when he gets here." Draco's voice was dismissive, but instead of being put off, Blaise looked at him with amusement. 

"You can ask whom what?" 

They all looked up, Draco standing gratefully when he saw Luna Lovegood and Dean Thomas arrive at their table. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to the petite blonde's cheek as Dean removed his jacket and hung it over the back of a chair. 

The night the snatchers had delivered Luna to the Manor at the beginning of the war, Draco had looked into her wide eyes and saw nothing but forgiveness. It had humbled him. Beginning that night he'd snuck food to the prisoners in the basement and done everything he could to protect Luna in particular, even though he hadn't been able to do much. Now that the war was over, where Luna went, Dean went. They were an unlikely couple; Draco always wondered if Dean hadn't hooked up with her on the rebound because the Weaselette married Potter. But Dean and Luna had spent months together in the dungeons, and Luna was too unique a woman for a man to maintain a relationship with for six years unless he loved her. And Dean had proven over the years to be a completely decent bloke. Draco reached out, and Dean grabbed his hand in his calloused one.

"Malfoy." He smiled, his teeth a flash of white in his dark face.

"Thomas. Pull up a seat."

"I hope you haven't sold my painting," Pansy said, turning her face for Dean to press a kiss to her cheek while he shook Blaise's hand. 

"I told you I wouldn't." Dean sat next to her. "When the showing is over, I'll deliver it to you." She patted him on the knee.

"My favorite Gryffindor." 

"Your only Gryffindor." Dean laughed, gesturing to the waiter. He nodded and pulled two more pints, sending them to the table on a floating tray.

"You never said whom we're asking what." Luna looked from face to face. 

"An old friend of yours is joining us from drinks this evening," Pansy answered. "Because Draco, quite clearly, has lost his fucking mind."

Luna looked at him in curiosity. "He doesn't seem anymore insane to me than usual." Blaise sputtered out a laugh. "And who is the old friend?"

"I believe he probably meant me." The voice was warm, and Draco shivered slightly in recognition.

They all turned and standing by the table, his hands in his pockets and a sheepish look on his face, was Potter.

Draco felt his heart begin to beat faster at the sight.

****

"Harry!" Luna jumped to her feet the moment she saw him, throwing her arms around him and he squeezed her, as glad to see her as he'd ever been to see anyone. He held his hand out to Dean as he hugged her, and his old friend gave him a brilliant smile. When he released Luna, Dean took her place, squeezing hard enough that Harry grunted softly. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen them, and the thought gave him pause. When had he become a person who didn't see his friends?

"Merlin," Dean said. "It's been forever."

"It has," Harry said, patting Dean on the shoulder as he stepped back. He gave Dean a wry look. "I see you're keeping dangerous company."

"Since you were invited to join us, you might want to remember that said 'dangerous company' issued the invitation." Draco gave him a sardonic smile. "You remember Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson."

Harry nodded, taking Zabini's speculative expression and Pansy'arkinson's obvious discomfort. He offered his hand to Zabini, who took it with an arch of one brow. 

"Nice to see you again," Harry said, Zabini's lips curled in an amused smile. 

"I'll let you know in a bit if I share the sentiment."

Harry shrugged nonchalantly. "That seem's fair." He looked at the woman averting her gaze at Draco's side. "Nice to see you, too, Parkinson." Her dark eyes shot back to his in surprise. 

"Oh, I'm sure," she said sarcastically.

Harry shrugged it off. They hadn't ended school on the best of terms, and if she wanted to be like that, well, he was a guest and she was one of Malfoy's best friends.

"I'm certain he meant it." Luna sat back down in her chair, curling her fingers around her pint. "Harry has always been exceptionally honest. And totally aside from you wanting to give him to the Dark Lord at the end of the war, Harry doesn't have any reason to dislike you, Pansy." Everyone stared at her in stunned silence. ' _Leave it up to Luna to bring up the Erumpent in the room_ , Harry thought. 

Harry heard a soft snort across the table, and he looked up to find Malfoy doing a poor job of smothering a laugh with his hand. His own mouth was threatening to crack into a smile.

"Oh, shut it." Parkinson elbowed Malfoy hard in the ribs, and his laughter cut off with a startled, pained sound. That made Zabini laugh, and then they were all laughing, save Pansy who looked around at them as if they'd lost all of their collective minds. And perhaps they had, Harry thought as the laughter died down.

Dean waved his hand to get the waiter's attention, and the floating tray returned with another pint, and a glass of wine to replace the one Pansy had drained while Harry was chatting with Dean and Luna. 

After that the awkwardness mostly faded, and as they caught up, Harry realized how cut off he'd been from his friends other than Ron and Hermione. He'd never really wanted to go out without Gin — and her schedule had made going out with her almost impossible, — but now as he laughed with Luna and Dean, and traded good-natured barbs with the Slytherins, he decided he'd never let himself be that cut off again. It was startling he had Draco Malfoy to thank for that, and his indebtedness to him gave him pause. 

Hoping he wasn't being obvious, Harry studied his old nemesis from across the table. The torches that burned in brackets on the time stained walls cast flattering golden light over his long, elegant features and made his white-blond hair glow, Harry thought he might be one of the handsomest men he'd ever seen. He felt the undeniable pull of attraction for the first time in years, and wasn't that a conundrum? 

They'd all been at the table for a couple of hours when Harry excused himself to go to the loo. He'd just finished at the urinal and was doing up his trousers when Dean pushed through the door behind him. They exchanged a grin as Harry went to the sinks to wash his hand and Dean took his place behind him. 

"So," Dean said after a few moments, "tell me if I'm bang out of line, but do I sense something going on with you and Draco?"

Harry turned quickly, his heart jumping into his throat. He must have looked alarmed, because Dean shook his head.

"I don't mean anything bad by that – "

"I just saw him again for the first time in years today," Harry said quickly.

"Listen, like I said, if it's none of my business, just tell me to piss off." Dean did up his own trousers and came to the sinks, turning on the water and rubbing his elegant artists hands beneath the stream to get them clean. "Draco and I actually had a very brief thing right after the war." He laughed, shaking the water droplets off and reaching for a paper towel. . "Lasted all of an hour and a half. He was a brilliant shag, as I recall."

Harry stared at Dean, gobsmacked. "How is it we shared a bedroom for six years and I had no idea you… well…"

Dean laughed. "Swung both ways? Who exactly advertised that in school? By the time I was interested in getting busy with someone, I was mostly interested in Ginny." He held up his hands, laughing at Harry's wry look. "Gin and I were fine as kids, but eventually she'd have wanted to kill me. I'm a flighty artist, remember? I think she figured I'd never make enough money, and she was shut with being poor."

Harry knew that was true; Gin had even said something like that to him once, that Dean was always going to be poor as a church mouse. Studying Dean, he didn't think he looked like he was doing too badly.

"The only reason I said anything," Dean went on, "about you and Draco I mean, is that I wanted you to know that under all of that snark is a really decent bloke masquerading as an arsehole. Just thought, since you're also a really decent bloke – " He let his voice trail off with a slight smile.

"I – I'm a married man, Dean."

Dean looked for a moment as if he pitied him. "To a wife who tours ten months out of every year."

"Feels more like twelve," Harry said, surprising himself. He rubbed the back of his neck. "What with the off season league and training camps. Even so," he went on, suddenly feeling exposed, "why would you think – " 

Dean's grin grew lopsided. "None of us were real smooth checking out Neville in the showers. Some of us were just more observant of who was looking, and who wasn't."

Harry felt his face heat, but loosened up by a couple of pints he didn't feel any of the old need to deny it. "Well, he does have the most obscenely huge cock I've ever seen in my life."

"Right?" Dean laughed. "I wonder if he ever figured out what to do with it?"

Now Harry laughed. "Well, given that the twins are three and Hannah's pregnant again, I'd say he did."

They shared another chuckle as they left the loo, but Harry knew he'd remember what Dean said, about Draco being a good person underneath the snark. What he didn't say was that he was beginning to agree and at the moment Ginny was the furthest thing from his mind.

****

Draco walked along Diagon Alley, his winter cloak done up to his neck and a gray fur hat pulled down over the tips of his ears. The odd snowflake drifted past, the fall not thick enough to begin accumulating on the ground yet but the clouds didn't look as if they were going anywhere. He rubbed his hands on his hips nervously as he made the last corner before Ollivander's, but he was determined to overcome his jitters and invite Potter to join them at the Leaky once again.

He knew it was probably the height of foolishness, but he hadn't been able to get his mind off of Potter in the week since he'd last seen him. Not only had the man grown up to be extremely hot, so much so that Draco had a hard time taking his eyes off of him, but he was funny, and self-effacing. Even Pansy had admitted on their way to the Apparition spot the Friday before that he'd improved with age. Draco was just grateful she didn't seem to have picked up on the re-emergence of the crush he'd had on him all the way through fifth year. He thought Blaise had, but was grateful he'd kept it to himself.

It was getting dark earlier now, and when he arrived at Ollivander's he could see Potter in the back of the shop. He had his sleeves rolled up and was turning a piece of dark wood on a lathe, and his long fingers were hovering over the spinning wand. Draco stared as a soft glow seemed to emanate from his hands, even without a wand and he stared. Then suddenly Potter looked up, saw him through the window and smiled, and Draco felt it all of the way to the soles of his cold feet. Potter turned off the lathe and gestured to Draco to come through the door.

He was wiping his hands on a towel as Draco approached the counter, the smile lingering in the dimples at the corners of his mouth.

"How long have you been able to do that?" Draco asked without preamble. Potter's smile faded slightly, a line appearing between his brows.

"Do what?" He tossed the towel under the counter.

"Do magic wandlessly?" Draco didn't bother to hide how impressed he was.

Potter stilled. "I don't do it wandless. I cast at the beginning of the process. And Ollivander showed me."

"Well, it's impressive." Draco stepped closer to the counter. "Would you show me how that works sometime?"

Potter's smile returned. "Sure." He looked at Draco as the silence stretched out between them.

His curious expression made Draco's forgotten nerves reassert themselves. "I uh," he pulled off his gloves for a bit of cover. "I was wondering if you'd care to join us for drinks at the Leaky again?"

He glanced up, relieved to see Potter's smile spread.

"I'd like that." Potter glanced down at the chunky silver watch on his wrist. "It's nearly six. I'll close up a few minutes early, and we can go."

Draco felt the pleasure return at Potter's easy acceptance of his invitation. He watched Potter turn off some lights and cover the lathe with a cloth, then he was shrugging into a short gray jacket and pulling on gloves. 

Potter gestured toward the door. "After you."

The walk to the Leaky seemed shorter this week, as they exchanged small talk. Two or three times Potter's elbow brushed against Draco. When Potter didn't flinch or pull away, Draco felt a small surge of both hope and forbidden desire. He scolded himself, Potter was married after all. 

When they entered the pub together, Pansy looked up, giving Draco a small, ironic quirk of her eyebrows. He mouthed back a plea for her to behave, and she just laughed, low and long. 

Luna and Dean couldn't make it, so it was just Potter and the Slytherins but Potter held his own. Potter traded snark for snark with Blaise and slowly but surely managing to charm Pansy. She looked at him over her wine glass at one point, her eyes speculating. 

"So," she said slowly. "How is it we didn't know you were this amusing in school, Potter?"

Potter grinned at her. "Because I probably wasn't. You know, that whole having a Dark Lord wanting to kill you plays hell with your sense of humor."

Pansy gave him a wry smile. "Tell me about it. There wasn't much in the way of laughs at my house back then either."

"Or mine," Blaise admitted. "Of course, there's never been much in the way of laughs with my mother."

"What, the black widow doesn't crack wise?" Draco asked, batting his lashes. Blaise flipped him off. Potter was grinning as he stood to excuse himself to go to the loo. The moment he was out of hearing, Blaise turned to him.

"So what's the story with _Mrs_ Potter?" Pansy leaned over to Draco.

"I have no idea," Draco answered. "He hasn't mentioned her."

"That seems significant, doesn't it?" Pansy took another sip of her wine. "I never did like the bint."

Blaise laughed. "She didn't much like you, either, if delivered Bat-Bogey Hex's are anything to go by."

"The bitch." Pansy rubbed a spot on her side reflexively. 

Draco sat back in his chair, giving her a sardonic look. "I think she hit me with them more than she did you."

"And imagine how she might react to you now, having the hots for her husband." Pansy said, her eyebrow quirking.

Draco glanced toward the bathroom in alarm. "Merlin, could you say that a little louder. I don't think Potter heard you in the stall."

Pansy rolled her eyes "Please, it wasn't that loud. Besides, I think Mrs Potter has more to worry about than you crushing on her husband."

"What does that mean?" Draco eyed her with trepidation.

"What that means, my darling, is that she should worry far more about the fact that her husband – " Pansy paused to take a drink of her wine " – quite clearly is interested in you." She looked at him over the brim of her wineglass. "I would think that would be a bigger problem for her." She paused a moment to reflect. "Also probably for him, with the Bat-Bogey Hexes and all."

"Potter isn't interested in me like that," Draco said even as his heart jumped at the idea. 

"Oh, he so is." Blaise crossed his arms over his chest, giving Draco a level look. "The only question is, what do you plan to do about it?"

Draco knew what he _wanted_ to do about it, but despite what Pansy and Blaise said, he wasn't sure the very married Harry Potter would be interested in getting horizontal. Plus, Draco was really beginning to _like_ the man. And wasn't that irony one for the ages?

Merlin, fuck his life, Draco thought as he fought the urge to bury his head in his hands. 

Only his sense of decency was keeping him upright, and it was vanishing rapidly.

****

A month later, thoughts of Draco filled Harry's mind almost constantly. He'd joined the Friday Night Crew for drinks several times, enough that Hermione finally asked pointedly what was so alluring about spending time with Draco Malfoy and the Slytherins, especially when Harry passed on dinner with her and Ron twice because he already had plans. She hadn't pressed him on it, Hermione wasn't stupid, and her knowing look had made his palms sweat. He kept telling himself he wasn't doing anything wrong, and he wasn't. But every time he thought about Malfoy, it made his breath catch and his pants tighten across the groin, and it was growing more and more difficult to ignore his physical response to Malfoy.

The bell above the shop door rang, and Harry looked up to see the tall, blond object of his musings striding toward him, a small smile on his lips. It was Tuesday, so he hadn't been expecting Draco, but the way his heart kicked up its pace and his mouth went dry just reinforced what Harry already knew; he was feeling more for the other man than a married person ought. It occurred to him fleetingly that he should probably cut their meetings back but just the thought of it made his chest ache. Seeing Draco had become the highlight of his week, and he wasn't willing to deny himself his company, or the chance to go out and laugh and be social like he had been once. 

"Hello." Draco came to stand at the counter and Harry thought he looked very elegant in fitted black robes, but also slightly nervous. There was a faint flush across his high cheekbones and his lower lip was swollen, as if he'd been biting it. Harry smiled in the hopes of easing whatever might be making the other man suddenly nervous in his company.

"This is unexpected," Harry said brightly. "It isn't Friday."

"Well-spotted," Draco teased with a lopsided smile. "Is that a prerequisite?"

Harry chuckled. "Not at all." He glanced at his watch. "Are we meeting the others?"

Draco hesitated, his long pale fingers fidgeting, looking down at the counter. "I was wondering if, perhaps," he cleared his throat, "you'd be interested in joining just me this evening. For dinner. At my place."

Harry's smile remained fixed on Draco's face, his heart kicking hard against his ribs. This was significant; Harry wasn't stupid. Draco was asking him for more than dinner. He also knew he really wanted to go. His cock twitched in anticipation. Harry cleared his throat, too, finding it tight and understanding why Draco had found it necessary.

"I'd – I'd like that," Harry said, his pulse racing at the base of his throat. He knew what this meant. From the answering look in Draco's eyes, they both did. "A lot, actually."

Draco's smile relaxed around the edges and his eyes lifted back to Harry's face. "Yeah?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah."

They stared at each other, then Draco lifted and he held out his hand. Harry looked at it for a long moment, before slipping his fingers across Draco's palm. 

"Before we Apparate out," Harry said quickly. "I have to lock up."

"Of course." Draco's thumb caressed the back of Harry's hand, then he lifted it to his mouth, kissing Harry's sharp knuckles. "Perhaps you should do that."

Harry's licked his dry lips, pulse pounding. "Perhaps I should."

He tried to be nonchalant, walking around from behind the counter to cross the shop and lock the door. He was half way there when it dawned on him he could have done it just as easily with a flick of his wand. He took the time walking to try to get his thoughts in order, to try to force his heart rate down to something like normal. He gave up on that; it wasn't going to happen.

When he arrived back at Draco's side, Draco gave him a slight smile. "Do you have a coat?"

"Oh, yeah." Now he did lift his wand, flicking it toward the back and Summoning his jacket. Draco caught it deftly as it flew through the air, then held it up for Harry to slip into. It had just settled onto his shoulders when Draco slipped his arm around Harry's waist and Harry felt the tug of Apparition behind his navel.

Harry became aware of two things simultaneously; one, that something in the glimpse he caught of what appeared to be the sitting room of the tastefully decorated flat smelled delicious, and two, that Draco's long fingers sliding up his back and into his hair made Harry feel lightheaded. 

"It's soft." Draco leaned in close to him, his face filling Harry's vision.

"Did you think it wouldn't be?" Harry asked breathlessly.

Draco smiled at him. "I thought it might be coarse." His fingers traced the curve of Harry's skull. "But it isn't, at all." His palm slipped to the back of Harry's neck, holding his head in place. "Now, I just need to – " The last word was spoken against Harry's mouth, and then Harry was leaning into Draco's slender frame, making a soft sound of welcome as Draco's lips slanted over his.

Draco's mouth was pervasive, moving over Harry's, and his tongue slid along Harry's lower lip then forward into his mouth. Harry couldn't help it; he groaned softly. It had been so long since he'd kissed anyone, but he was forcefully reminded of what it was he loved about kissing another man. There was nothing tentative in the way Draco kissed him, and his hands and arms were hard, strong. Draco was taller, pushing Harry back into the door of his flat, his hands hard on his back, moving up to push the jacket from Harry's shoulders. Harry let it slide down his arms, then lifted them around Draco's neck. Now it was Draco's turn to make a harsh, needy sound and it went straight to Harry's cock, stiffening it behind his fly.

Draco turned him, kissing Harry as he backed him across the room. Their lips would part long enough for them to change the angle of their heads, but then they would dive back in, kissing frantically, desperation in every movement. Harry couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so out of control, needed so much. He was so lost in Draco's mouth and tongue that he wasn't aware they'd moved into a bedroom until the back of his knees bumped into the softness of a mattress. Draco slipped his hands under Harry's jumper, pushing it up, his hands caressing Harry's skin. As they slid up his back, the jumper went with them and Draco pulled back long enough to divest Harry of the green wool and to tear open the front of his own robes, then they were skin to skin and Harry shuddered in his arms.

"Merlin." Draco slid his hands down Harry's back, one palm sliding over Harry's arse, and Harry had an almost overwhelming urge to climb Draco's long body as if he were a tree. Draco's hand continued on past Harry's arse to the back of Harry's knee, then he was lifting Harry's leg, pulling it up over his hip and angling his pelvis forward so that Harry could feel the answering hardness behind the front of Draco's black trousers. Draco eased him down onto the bed and covered him with his body, rolling his hips forward, pressing his cock against Harry's. Harry gasped letting his head fall back as Draco's lips slid to the base of his throat, opening there, his teeth nipping lightly at Harry's skin. He pulled Draco closer with the leg wrapped around his hips and thrust up, whimpering at the rush of need that coursed through him.

That was the moment when what he was doing became real to Harry, when he realized he was about to do something he'd sworn to never do. Still, it wasn't Ginny's face he saw in his mind, but Hermione's, and Ron's, and Molly's their hurt written across their expressions. It was like being splashed with ice water, and he stilled beneath Draco's lips. Draco was very perceptive; a moment after Harry went still he lifted up onto his elbow, looking down into Harry's face, his fair hair spilling over his brow.

"Harry?"

Harry forced himself to look into Draco's concerned gray eyes. "I'm sorry." Harry swallowed, and he gave Draco a small, sad smile. "You have no idea how sorry."

Draco studied his face, and Harry saw the disappointment in his eyes. "Was it something I did?"

"No. Fuck, no." Harry covered the hand still resting on his chest, linking their fingers. "No, it's something I should have done."

Draco frowned. "I don't understand."

"I know you don't." Harry sighed and sat up, and Draco eased back to give him some room, their hands still joined. Harry ran his free hand through his hair. "I'm afraid I'm having a bit of a… crisis, here."

"Suddenly not so gay?" Draco's voice tone wry but the disappointment on his face was undeniable.

"No, it's not you."

"Oh, Potter. Please don't give me the old 'it's not you, it's me' line." Draco released his hand and turned away.

"But, it is me," Harry said quickly. Draco rolled his eyes, pulling the top of his robe closed. Seeing all of that fair skin covered up made Harry's heart sink. "I'm not doing this very well." Harry sighed. "It's not that I don't want you. Clearly," he gestured to the bulge in the front of his jeans with a wry smirk, "I do. And as for the 'not so gay' part, I'm bi, actually. Pretty much always have been. I'm also still married."

"Ah." Draco flopped back on the bed. "So you are. My apologies. I thought we were past that."

"I thought I was, too," Harry admitted. "It's not as if we have much of a marriage left; I haven't really seen Ginny in months. She's only been home a handful of days." His mouth turned down; a twist of bitterness went through him. "I'm practically a singleton. In most ways. But before I start something with you," he grabbed Draco's hand again, holding it when he would have pulled away, "and I _do_ want to start something with you, very much, I have to at least tell her that we're over."

Draco didn't move or speak for a long time, so long Harry was beginning to fear he'd ruined everything. Finally, he rolled his head toward Harry, his eyes wide and watchful. "Do you plan to tell her that?"

"Yes." Harry tried to sound as emphatic as he could. "Tomorrow."

Draco's lips quirked slightly, as if they did it before he could stop them. "And then, we'll try this again?"

"If you'll have me."

Now Draco's smirk was unmistakable. "Oh, I plan to have you. Over just about every surface in this flat."

Harry laughed. "In the meantime, can I stay and eat whatever that is that smells so delicious? I'm starving."

Draco sighed as if put upon and stood, offering his hand. "Never let it be said I starved the savior of the wizarding world."

Harry grabbed his hand and Draco pulled him up, kissing him quickly then pausing to stare into Harry's eyes. "You'll tell her tomorrow."

Harry nodded. "I promise."

****

Harry left Draco's with a stomach full of pasta with vodka sauce and an erection that was bordering on painful. He'd barely landed in his front hall before his was jerking his trousers and pants to his knees. With an audible gasp he grabbed his prick and slid his hand up to the tip. He took advantage of the precome leaking out and began to wank, thoughts of how Draco had felt, smelled, _kissed_ running through his mind. If asked later he'd swear it was five good _pulls_ before he was coming all over the floor, but truth be told it was closer to three. Harry leaned against the door, panting hard as his vision cleared. As he cast a Cleansing Charm over himself, Harry realized thoughts of his wife hadn't made him so aroused and ten minutes in Draco Malfoy's arms had been. He wondered if Draco had needed to get himself off as badly as Harry had. He hoped so.

Pouring a glass of firewhisky, Harry collapsed in his favorite chair by the fire and stared into the flames. He knew in his heart it was time to end things with Ginny. Past time, really. Harry wondered if he'd not connected with Draco what would have happened. Would he have continued in his sham of a marriage? Or would he finally have had enough and ended it anyway? He ran a finger around the rim of his glass. Was he ready for the publicity that was going to come from his marriage ending? 

_Oh fuck_ , he thought. _Bloody Skeeter was going to have a field day with this. Would it be fair to Draco to drag him through all the publicity that was bound to show up?_

Not for the first time in his life, Harry wondered why he couldn't just live his life without having to worry that he was going to be front-page news. Sighing heavily, he drained his glass and went to bed, ignoring the lure of another shot. Tomorrow was going to be a stress-filled day and starting it with a hangover would be a lousy way to for it to begin.

****

Morning came far too quickly for Harry. He'd spent much of the evening tossing and turning and very little of it actually sleeping. He considered not opening the shop today and going straight to see Ginny. But he knew she'd be in practice and he wouldn't be able to talk to her until later anyway. He rolled out of bed and padded into the kitchen. Once he'd managed to force down some tea and buttered toast, Harry set off for work.

He managed to keep busy most of the morning by working wands out of some Chestnut wood he'd just had delivered. When he ruined the second piece of wood for the day, Harry decided to stop. While the wood hadn't been particularly expensive, Ollivander had taught Harry that wands must be created only when the wand-maker was at top form. Clearly this wasn't that day.

Harry ran his hands through his hair. There was no point in trying to see Gin yet, and he'd cleaned up his work area, dithering about, before deciding to give up and close early for lunch. He stared toward the flames in his floo thoughtfully. Maybe he could convince Hermione to join him.

"Hermione Granger-Weasley's office," Harry called after tossing a pinch of Floo powder into the fire.

He was about to give it up for a lost cause, when a frazzled looking Hermione came into view. "Harry!" she cried a bit breathless. "Sorry. I was just about finished with a student when you called. Of course seeing _Harry Potter_ in my fire nearly caused the poor girl to faint." She laughed lightly.

"Right," Harry deadpanned. "As if a college co-ed gives a niffler's arse about _Harry Potter_."

"I'm serious," Hermione replied between snickers. "Nearly put me off my tea, she did."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Just for that, I'm not going to ask you to lunch."

"Yes you are," she smiled. "Because something is bothering you and you need to talk." 

Harry gaped. "How did you know?"

"I'm your best friend, Harry. I've known for weeks something's bothering you. And if I gave you enough time, you'd finally need to talk about it. So, are you coming through?"

Harry shook his head. "You'd think I'd be used to this by now, but every single time you amaze me with your reasoning." He hesitated a moment. "Let me close up and then I'll come through."

"Perfect," Hermione replied. "I'll just put a note on the door that afternoon sessions are cancelled for today. I'll see you soon."

****

They ended up in a private corner of the Leaky, Harry picking at his fish and chips while Hermione dug into a cup of soup. She watched him through several mouth fulls.

"Oh, do spill it, Harry," she finally said in exasperation. "I don't want to have to drag it from you."

Harry took a deep breath, then met her eyes. "I'm going to ask Ginny for a divorce."

"Ah." She placed her spoon carefully in the bowl, leaning back in her chair and dabbing at her lips with her napkin. Harry noticed she didn't seem surprised.

"That's it? 'Ah'?"

She arched a brow at him. "What would you like me to say, Harry? 'Well done, you?' You do realize this is going to cause a bit of drama in my marriage as well?"

Harry sighed and rubbed unsteady fingers across his forehead. "I'm sorry, Hermione. I'd never intentionally cause problems between you and Ron."

She shook her head. "Ron may occasionally do a good impersonation of the thickest man in the world, but he's known something was wrong between you and Ginny for months. Actually, he's been extremely hacked off at her. The one who's going to be blindsided by this is Molly."

Harry grimaced. "I know."

"You can't take responsibility for that either, though, Harry. Molly has always refused to believe that Ginny could do anything wrong. And Ron will run interference for you, if it comes to that. Now." She folded her arms and stared at him, and Harry felt the hair on his nape twitch. "How much of this has to do with your Friday's in the bar with Draco Malfoy?"

Harry felt his face heating. "If I tell you I'm not sure, will you believe me?"

"No."

He laughed raggedly. "I should have expected that. It's the truth, though. I won't lie and tell you that I'm not attracted to Draco."

"Do tell," she said dryly. "So, just attracted?" Hermione's knowing eyes searched his face. 

"Mostly." Harry's face was so hot now it felt like it was on fire. "We haven't slept together, if that's what you're asking. Almost, but…I couldn't do it. Even with how strained things have been, Gin doesn't deserve that."

Hermione reached out and covered one of Harry's hands with hers. "What she does or doesn't deserve notwithstanding, I'm glad you aren't forcing yourself to live with that on your conscience. It would be far harder on you than it would be on her. So," she leaned back and picked up a thick slab of bread that had come with the soup, tearing off a corner, "when are you going to see her?"

"Today," he said decisively. "If I wait for her to come home to do it, it might never happen."

"I think that's wise." She put the bread in her mouth then gestured toward his lunch, chewing and swallowing first. "Eat up. You're going to need your strength."

Harry gave her a sardonic look but popped a soggy chip into his mouth.

"Now," Hermione went on. "I have a question." Harry looked back at her, his brows raised in question. "How much time are you going to give me to soften my husband up to the idea that his best friend has not only left his sister, but is sleeping with Draco Malfoy?"

Harry choked briefly on the soft bit of potato, glaring are her through watering eyes.

"You might want to give a bloke a warning before you pop off with something like that, Hermione."

She laughed. "Where's the fun in that? Besides, it's a legitimate question."

"Ever the law professor." He wiped at his mouth. He glanced away, feeling his face heat but not willing to lie to her. "You might want to get on that at dinner this evening, then."

Hermione laughed. "Not wasting any time, I see."

Harry sat back, arching a brow at his friend. "I want to talk to Ginny first, but I'm not giving him a chance to change his mind." Hermione gave him an indulgent smile, shaking her head. "What?"

"When he's wanted you for ages? I don't think you have to worry about it."

"What does that mean?" Harry demanded.

"Oh, Harry." She patted his hand. "Draco's had his eyes on you for almost as long as you've had your eyes on him."

She only laughed at his gobsmacked expression.

****

Harry chose to travel via Floo instead of trying to Apparate all of the way to Scotland. When he stepped out into the lobby of the hotel where Ginny and the team were staying, he expected there to be people milling about. He wasn't surprised by the curious eyes darting his way, or the shock of recognition on most faces. It was one of the reasons he avoided public places where there might be a crowd. Even after being the source of stares since he was eleven years old, Harry had never become comfortable with it. Now he tried to ignore the family nearby that stared at him, wide eyed, and looked for the main desk. He spotted it on the other side of the lobby and made his way through the milling crowd, ignoring the gasps and whispers that followed him.

There was a young woman standing behind the marble counter and she looked up at him, her eyes widening. 

"Hi," he said, keeping his voice intentionally lowered. There were too many eyes around, too many ears who would just love to overhear what he was about to say. "I'm looking for my wife, Ginny Weasley-Potter? She's staying here with the Holyhead Harpies?"

Given the time to regain her composure, the young woman blushed but no longer seemed frightened. "Oh, yes. The team is having dinner at a restaurant down the street called 'The Rogue's Larder'."

"Thank you." Harry started to turn to go, but the young woman caught his attention when she shook her head quickly. Her brown eyes were very wide.

"The team is down the street," she said, lowering her voice even further. "But…" She leaned forward. "I believe Mrs Potter is in the pub attached to the lobby."

Harry let the implication of that sink in. "Thank you very much."

She nodded, a small smile at the corner of her lips. "You're welcome. Just follow the signs through that archway. The pub is called 'The Bludger'."

Harry nodded, thinking that for what he'd come to do the name was uniquely apt. He followed the sign through one archway, then another, then entered the dimly lit pub and stopped, letting his eyes become accustomed to the dark. He smelled dark ale and fried food, and an undertone of furniture polish and old leather. There weren't many tables, but there were abundant nooks and crannies, and a quick search of the main room didn't reveal Ginny's distinctive bright red hair. He finally stopped a server who was walking by with a tray loaded with glasses.

"I'm sorry," he said softly, "but I'm looking for my wife. She plays for the Harpies and has shoulder length red hair – "

"Mrs Potter is around the corner to your left," the woman answered. "Just that way." She angled her head and Harry thanked her. There was something rueful about the look she gave him as she walked away, but he didn't think much of it as he went in the direction she'd indicated. The pub was crowded and there were more startled looks as he passed, but he was in a hurry. When he walked around the corner, he almost walked past the small table tucked into a dimly lit corner, and the couple sitting at it. But then he saw the straight, shoulder length red hair and he stopped. 

Several things happened at once. First, Harry registered that the couple was holding hands, their heads bent close together as if in intimate conversation. As he stood there, he saw the young man angle his head and he realized he was about to watch another man kiss his wife. He cleared his throat, causing both of the people at the table to jump and look up at him.

"Harry." Ginny stared up at him, her eyes so wide there was a slender white ring all around the deep brown of her iris. The young man across from her released her hand and jumped to his feet and Harry knew it was petty, but he noticed he was taller by several inches with vengeful satisfaction. 

"Mr Potter," he said, his face first white then flushing dark pink. He held out a hand that was less than steady. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

Harry gave Ginny a _he's got to be fucking kidding_ look but shook the offered hand. 

"And you are?"

"Oh, sorry. Martin. Martin Tully. I write the Quidditch column for the Daily Prophet." He was trembling, and for a moment Harry actually felt sorry for him.

"Ah," Harry said. "Well, good on you. Listen, Martin, I wonder if you could give us a few minutes?" He gave Ginny a hard look. "Clearly, I need to have a word with my wife."

****

Draco walked along Diagon Alley, the wind catching the hem of his cloak and tugging at his fair hair. It was late, later than most of the shops were open and he passed several 'closed' signs as he walked. He was certain Potter probably wasn't there, that he'd gone home for the evening, but it had been just under twenty four hours since the man left his flat and Draco couldn't think about anything, or anyone, else.

When Harry stepped into his floo and disappeared from view the night before, Draco had his trousers undone and his fist wrapped around his cock in the space between one heartbeat and the next. He couldn't remember ever wanting another man the way he wanted Harry; his balls had actually ached with it. But there was more to his feelings than simple want. If it was just sex, that would be one thing. But it wasn't just sex. He _liked_ him. He was funny, and self-effacing, and earlier that day Draco had a lovely daydream about holding Harry as they fell asleep, or waking up next to him in the morning. He'd never felt that way about anyone, and it startled him that while he wanted the sex, _a lot_ , he wanted what came with it more.

He made the last turn before Ollivander's, prepared to see the 'closed' sign turned outward. He was shocked when he saw the bright yellow 'open' sign with a grinning sun behind it framed in the glass door. He pushed through it, slowing his walk when he saw that Harry was there, all right, but he wasn't alone. 

He was standing at the counter, speaking with a witch in threadbare winter coat and a small boy of perhaps ten. Everything about them screamed 'muggle', and as Draco watched, Harry handed the boy a wand. The child took it with reverence and more than a little fear. Once it was in his hand he stared at it, then up at Harry. 

"Give it a swish." The boy didn't seem to understand, and Harry slipped his own wand from his sleeve. "Like this." He waved his wand with a murmured 'lumos'. The tip of his wand lit with a soft glow and the child's eyes widened. "Nox." The light went out and Harry smiled down at the boy. "Okay, Now you try."

The boy swallowed nervously.

"It's okay, Davey," his mother said. "You can do it."

The boy straightened narrow shoulders and firmed his grip on the wand. He waved it a bit awkwardly and said 'lumos' quite firmly. Draco found himself holding his breath until the tip of the wand flared to light, and nearly cheering when the boy laughed and his mother clapped. 

"Well done, Davey," Harry said, taking the wand back after the boy has uttered 'nox' and the wand tip was dark, before putting it in the box. Draco remembered holding that box so reverently when he'd got his hawthorn wand. He'd played with an old wand of his father's at home, but that one had been _his_ , his first real tool of his ancestry. It had meant everything. "I'd say that's the one." He looked up at the mother with a smile, and Draco felt weak in the knees. Circe, he was handsome.

"Is it very expensive?" She asked softly. She gestured towards the packages on the nearby counter, a pewter cauldron balanced precariously on the top. "This has all cost so much…"

"I'm sorry, Mum," the boy murmured, all joy in the wand forgotten. Harry looked between them.

"How about this," he said to the woman. "You pay me what you can, when you can."

"Oh, I couldn't do that," she sputtered.

"Sure you can." Harry took a tablet and pencil from beneath the counter, wrote something on it, then turned it and handed her the pencil. She looked at the tablet, hesitating. "If he's going to Hogwarts he has to have it," he said gently. "And I can afford to take payments."

"But… that doesn't even say when you want payments to start."

"I want them to start when you can afford it."

Her smile wobbled around the edges and her eyes looked suspiciously bright, but she signed the tablet and handed Harry back the pencil. 

"Okay," Harry said brightly. "There you go, all ready for Hogwarts. You'll have to let me know which house you sort." He lifted the parcels from the counter and handed them to the woman, who gave him a grateful smile.

"Thank you, Mr Ollivander."

Harry looked startled for a moment, but then his smile widened. "You're welcome."

Draco opened the door for them with a flourish and she gave him a wide smile, as well, and he thought he could understand why Harry hadn't corrected her. There was something to be said for a person looking at you with no idea who you were, or who your father was. 

Draco closed the door behind them then sauntered to where Harry stood at the counter, smiling in welcome.

"You do know that eventually he'll figure out who sold him his first wand."

"Yeah, but not today." 

"No, just when he gets to the pertinent chapter in his 'History of Magic' text book."

Harry grimaced. "Merlin, that makes me feel old. I'm in a bloody textbook." He shuddered, and Draco laughed. 

"You're not that old. Trust me. I've reason to know." He leaned against the counter, delighted when a kiss of blush spread across Harry's cheekbones. Draco found himself wanting to do things that would deepen that blush. "You're here late."

"I had an appointment with Davey and his mother. She's a single mum and couldn't get here any earlier."

"And you, of course, didn't mind extending your day to accommodate her."

Harry shrugged. "It wasn't an inconvenience. And your arrival saves me having to send an Owl."

Draco's brows rose. "Is that right?"

"I was going to see if you'd had dinner yet. I thought we might catch a late meal and perhaps a glass or two of wine."

"Really?" Draco reached out and ran his index finger along the side of Harry's hand where it rested on the counter. He was pleased at the gooseflesh that rose on the back of Harry's hand. "And then what?"

Harry's breath hitched but his smile widened. He leaned on the counter across from Draco so that their heads were closer together. "And then – whatever you want."

"Whatever I want?" Draco leaned far enough forward to run the tip of his nose along the line of Harry's jaw. "I want a lot of things, Potter. Are you sure you're available for that?"

He felt more than saw Harry's answering smile. "Quite sure. I'll be even more publically available in two months when my divorce is final."

Draco leaned back enough to look into Harry's eyes, searching them. He saw relief, and affection, maybe even more than affection, but the shadows from the night before were gone.

"Where is that tablet?"

Harry looked startled but reached beneath the counter and pulled out the pad of paper and the pencil. He flipped to a clean page and turned it for Draco. Lifting the pencil, Draco scrawled across the page in his neat, aristocratic hand; _I, Harry Potter, pledge all of my free time to Draco Malfoy once my separation from the Weaslette is finalized._ Then he drew an X and turned the tablet back around. Harry read the sentence, shooting him a wry look when he got to the 'Weaslette' comment, but he took the pencil from Draco and signed at the 'X' with a flourish. Draco stared down at the strong, bold _Harry Potter_ , and felt his heart rate pick up. He tore the page from the tablet, folded it neatly, and put it into his interior pocket. 

"What are you going to do with that?"

"Frame it," Draco answered. He reached out and slipped his hand around Harry's nape, pulling him in and giving him a firm, solid kiss, lingering over it. Finally he pulled back, resting their foreheads together. "Are you sure you want to go to dinner?"

"You're not hungry?" Harry asked breathlessly.

"Not for food." There was a low growl in Draco's voice, and Harry shivered beneath his hand. 

"Okay, let me just lock up here." He stepped back enough to wave his wand and Draco heard the sign flip and the deadbolt slide into place. 

"Aren't wands a wonderful thing?" Draco asked with a grin. Harry's smile was bright enough that when he lowered the lights and put out the fire on the hearth, Draco could still see the flash of white teeth.

"So," his grin grew teasing around the edges, "your place or mine?"

Draco laughed. "Mine. I have three hundred thread count Egyptian cotton sheets, and I feel fairly safe in assuming you _don't_."

"God, you're a snob." Harry laughed. 

Draco walked around the counter, slipping his arm around Harry's waist and pulling him in against his body with a firm tug. "That can't possibly surprise you."

Harry reached up, slipping his hand around Draco's nape and pulling him in with his own show of strength until their lips were just an inch apart. "Not even a little bit," he said with a teasing light in his eyes. "Fortunately for you, I no longer care."

Draco arched one of his brows. "Fortunately for me? We'll see who's the fortunate one once I get you horizontal."

Harry's smile widened. "Is that a challenge, Malfoy?"

"Maybe." Draco swiped his tongue over Harry's lower lip. "Potter."

He heard Harry catch his breath. "Well, then. Challenge accepted."

Harry pressed their mouths together and they disappeared with a sharp, echoing 'pop'.

fin


End file.
